BOTTLING UP THE RUSTLERS
“How do you like it, Bob, as far as you’ve gone?” asked Frank, as they
prepared to follow after the others, who were slowly moving off in
Indian file, pressing close to the earth, and looking not unlike a
string of great cats, creeping upon their quarry.
“Is that a fair question, Frank?” said the Kentucky boy, with a sign of
hesitation in his low voice. “Because if it is, I’m bound to answer you
straight.”
“You don’t care much for this sort of thing, then; is that it?” asked
the other.
“Well, between us honestly, then, I don’t seem to,” came the reply. “You
see, when I looked forward to it, the idea seemed rather fine; but
somehow the experience feels different. And, Frank, I hope when I say
that, you won’t believe for a minute it’s because I’m timid.”
“I know better than that, Bob. You mean, I take it, that this thing of
hunting _men_ somehow doesn’t seem to appeal to you?”
“That’s just what I mean, Frank,” replied the other, hastily. “It’s hard
to explain how I feel, but I’d rather ten times over be galloping across
the plains on my good old Domino, than crawling all over these
mountains, looking for rustlers, and feeling ugly in my heart because
they’ve robbed Circle Ranch of its prize herd.”
“But you don’t blame the rest of us for wanting to get those cattle back
again, do you, Bob?”
“Well, I should say _not_!” Bob exclaimed, with so much feeling
that his chum had to press a warning finger to his lips; “and remember,
that I’m just as eager about turning the trick as you can be. Only,” and
there was a wistful tone to his voice now, “I’ll be awful glad when it’s
over.”
Frank chuckled softly.
“Looks like you’d never make a very good sheriff, or marshal, Bob,” he
remarked.
“I don’t reckon I would,” replied the other. “Perhaps it’s because I’ve
got too soft a heart. But Frank, if I saw the biggest scoundrel that
ever went unpunished nagging a little chap, or a girl, I think I’d jump
in, and try to hold him up.”
“Don’t I know it, old fellow?” the other hastened to declare. “Haven’t I
seen you do just that same thing more’n once? But we’d better cut this
talk out now, Bob, and get along because they’ve all gone but us; and we
want to see what goes on, whether we have a hand in it or not.”
“Right we do, Frank; lead the way!”
The two saddle boys started to follow the rest, creeping along as
stealthily as the best of them, and heading for the camp of the cattle
thieves.
The night was near its close, just as Frank had declared when mentioning
the fact that it must be after four o’clock. And the moon would
presently vanish behind the summit of the ridge that marked the cap of
the western range, of which Thunder Mountain was a part.
When Frank and his chum arrived within seeing distance of the several
cabins comprising the camp of the rustlers, all seemed quiet. The fires
had been allowed to die down, so that there was only a little glow where
they had been.
From the direction of the big corral where the cattle were kept, such
sounds as would indicate the presence of a herd could be heard by ears
accustomed to the various noises of a ranch.
Of course the boys were more concerned in the bunk-house than anything
else, for it was in this quarter the excitement would presently center.
“The door seems to be wide open,” whispered Bob, in his chum’s ear.
“That’s all right,” came the faint reply. “We expected that, because the
night has been warmer than usual. But make up your mind that’s all been
thought of, and if you keep your eyes fastened on that doorway, perhaps
you’ll see something moving before long.”
Frank would not have spoken at this length only that he had his lips
close to the ear of his companion; and had anyone been five feet away it
is doubtful whether they could have distinguished his voice from the
sighing of the soft night wind through the branches of the cedars, or
the aspens, near by.
As Bob lay there with his eyes glued upon the dark doorway of the big
bunk-house, boylike, he allowed his thoughts to stray far away. And as
might be expected, he thought, among other things, of the missing knife,
which had never seemed half so valuable to him as when he found it gone.
What Frank had said about his using it to cut up the deer several days
ago appeared to have made considerable impression on Bob’s mind. He was
trying now with all his might, to mentally look upon that scene again,
in the hope that in this way he could follow his actions, and find out
just what he had done with the knife, after finishing his work.
In vain did he try, however. There seemed to be just one place up to
which he was able to carry himself, and there he stuck, every time.
But the minutes were passing. Surely it ought to be nearly time for
things to begin happening. He had kept his eyes on that open door; but
so far nothing had rewarded his scrutiny.
What were they waiting for? Had the old Moqui promised to make his
appearance, to tell them that all was well, and every one of the
rustlers sound asleep?
What was that—Frank nudging him in the side? Then his chum evidently
wished to call his attention to something that was taking place.
For the first time Bob had removed his eyes from the doorway, to glance
around the camp; and warned by this signal, he hastened to turn his
attention once more in the quarter where he anticipated discovering
something.
He was not disappointed this time, for he could certainly see a movement
there. The moon’s rays did not happen to be shining on that side of the
cabin, so that he could not see as distinctly as he would like; but Bob
knew that the object must be the figure of a man.
What if one of the rustlers had arisen, and thought to start the fire
for an early breakfast? That would “play hob”, as Bob expressed it in
his own mind, with the carefully laid plans of the stockman.
But he felt pretty certain that the one who had appeared in the doorway
must be the Moqui warrior. His actions indicated stealth, and a desire
to keep from doing anything calculated to arouse the sleepers.
Looking closer, Bob believed he could see the unknown one closing the
heavy door of the bunk-house. This caused him to remember what had
passed through his mind at the time he scrutinized this same building,
when the glow of the fires lighted it up. It had reminded him of a
fort, with its heavy log walls, stout shutters that could be fastened
over the windows, and cumbersome door.
Perhaps in building it the rustlers may have had some such idea in view.
They were at war with the cowmen of the country, and at any time might
find themselves attacked by a force of indignant cowboys ready to avenge
the daring raids of the past. At such a time a fortress in the valley
was apt to prove of considerable value, and might save their lives.
Yes, the man in the shadows had now closed the door, beyond all doubt.
He seemed to be doing something more, which Bob could easily imagine
must mean that he was fastening a stout rope in such a way that those
within would be powerless to open the door.
Bob remembered the small openings that served as windows. How could they
be secured against the exit of the rustlers, aroused by the lowing of
the herd after it was put in motion; or even before?
Strange how a sly fox should venture so near the camp, even at this
still hour of the night; or could that little bark have come from the
lips of the Indian, to serve as a signal?
“Come on!” whispered Frank in his ear; and immediately Bob jumped to the
conclusion that his guess was the truth, after all, and that it had been
the Moqui who so closely imitated the call of the red fox.
Figures arose here and there. The eager cowboys had been waiting for
this sound with a fever in their blood. But there was no confusion, no
stumbling, as they swiftly advanced, ready to take a hand in the game.
Colonel Haywood and Scotty had made all arrangements beforehand. Each
man knew exactly what was expected of him, and they moved like the parts
of a well oiled machine.
There were two of those small openings, one on either side of the cabin.
The heavy wooden shutters could be closed easily enough; but, being
intended for fastening inside, it was not so easy to make them secure
from without.
Two heavy posts that had been chopped for some purpose by the rustlers
having caught the eye of the stockman, he judged they would be just the
thing to hold the shutters closed, if placed in a slanting position from
without.
Bob saw men run lightly forward, pick up these posts, and after the
shutters had been quietly swung over, plant the braces in such a way
that no effort from within could displace them.
And it seemed to him this had hardly been accomplished before there came
a shout from inside the cabin, that told of alarm.